


Sweet Summer Breeze

by OverMyFreckledBody



Category: Original Work
Genre: Avatar: The Last Airbender References, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Healing, Loneliness, Mentioned Unrequited Love, New Friendships, POV First Person, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-15
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-09-08 18:00:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8855407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverMyFreckledBody/pseuds/OverMyFreckledBody
Summary: Not all breakups hurt - sometimes they're more of an easy drift that people just accept with time and let go of - but this one did.Not all friendships last forever - not even the kind where the bracelets match and the conversations are a daily thing - but this one might.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I was cleaning some old fics and I found this old thing? From about five months ago when I realized something was happening with one of my friendships. So, it's roughly based off of that, but not really. It started as stress relief and while it's still that, it's totally it's own story.
> 
> No idea where that title came from, but it was the name of the document, so. Also, I don't remember what i was originally listening to, but I started to listen to [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ssdgFoHLwnk) as I added that last two hundred words before posting it.

                There’s a kid in my spot when I settle along the wall beside him, kicking my feet out and stretching my legs while he bends them close, backs of his heels pressed against himself. I give him a once over, chewing hard on the end of the stick in my mouth, taking in his ratty shoes and brand new rubber bracelet before I ask, pushing the stick to the side of my mouth to let the words out easier, “What’re you sitting over here for?”

 

                He bites his lip, doesn’t look at me, and taps his foot. “Just thinking.”

 

                I nod to that, and spread my fingers out over my thighs. A lot of people came out here to think. Often times they’d come out, talk to me a little bit, then I wouldn’t see them again. It was nice to know (or, at least, imagine) that they solved the problem that was weighing them down and didn’t have to find a secluded place like this one again, or talk to a stranger they didn’t know about things they shouldn’t care about.

 

                “Wanna talk about it?”

 

                He shakes his head, so I only nod again. Some people don’t talk about it. They don’t often come back either, but the thought is just the same. I always hope that they worked it out, whether with someone else or on their own.

 

                He sighs when the sun starts to fall and stands up, brushing himself off. He turns around and his gaze slides over me, licks his lips like he wants to say something but he doesn’t know what, but ends up silent as he turns to leave. I only flip my stick around so the paper stops dissolving in my mouth.

 

* * *

 

 

                He’s there again, fiddling with his hands. I’ve barely sat down, about to say hello, when he chokes out, “My best friend, she – we don’t talk every day, anymore.”

 

                “Well,” I start, a tad bit surprised. Not only is he _back_ , but he’s decided to talk, so I want to think out my words. It’s a sign of trust, even if he doesn’t know it, to tell me this, so I’m not going to brush it aside.

 

                “Well,” I say again, and collect myself before continuing, trying to keep my thoughts simple, “Most people don’t.”

 

                He looks away, pale brown eyes staring at the cracked pavement under his feet. His voice is quiet and my heart quickens for a brief second in sympathy when he says back, “We did.”

 

                And, well. Well, _shit_.

 

* * *

 

 

                I see him again, but this time he’s standing, leaning against the wall, hands shoved deep enough into his pockets I can barely see his wrists. As I walk over to lean against the wall next to him, he pulls out a lollipop, wrapper covered in purple question marks. He doesn’t look at me as I take it from him slowly and unwrap it, taking my already chewed stick and replacing the wrapper on that instead before shoving it into my own pocket.

 

                I’m about to thank him, mindlessly sticking the sucker into my mouth, when the I recognize the taste. I send him a look, watching a small smirk uncurl on his lips when I make an appreciative noise.

 

                “Butterscotch.” I can’t hold back my grin and I know it’s clear enough in my voice that he doesn’t need to look over to see it. “My favorite.”

 

* * *

 

 

                When he finally does talk, breaking the silence of this afternoon, it’s only, “I love her.”

 

                I know immediately who he’s referencing, but it’s all I can do to keep my gaze forward as I sigh back, “That’s rough, buddy.”

 

                To my surprise, I get a little bit of a laugh for that. I turn to see him covering his mouth with the heel of his palm and my chest tightens at hearing the noise for the first time, and at knowing that I caused it. It’s a sweet sound, and I find myself smiling in response.

 

                It’s a few minutes after he’s finished giggling that he replies, but it’s still light as if he’s still laughing.

 

                “Alright, Zuko.”

 

* * *

 

 

                It sticks. If we already knew each other’s names, it might not have (or maybe it would have still), but after that, he greets me as Zuko, and I smile back.

 

* * *

 

 

                He fiddles with the bracelet on his arm one day, well, more so than usual. Every day he visits or so I watch him slip a finger into the space between the black rubber and his skin and jerk at it, watch him tangle, pull it around, all mindlessly. It’s a habit, a yearn for comfort from less than comforting thoughts, I know.

 

                He touches it more today.

 

                I wonder what’s on his mind; what he’s going to say, if he’ll say anything at all.

 

                Eventually, he takes in a deep breath, pulls it off, and turns to me. I look up at his face, watches his lashes dip when he glances down at the band, and then his hand when he presses it into my own as a gift. I take it, send him a confused flick of my eyes, but he stares at it, sitting in the middle of my palm, teeth biting into his bottom lip.

 

                “We don’t talk anymore,” he whispers and for the shortest second I think he’s talking about us, until I realize – _understand_ – who gave him the bracelet, and who he’s talking about. “She hasn’t spoken to me first in… a long time.”

 

                He stands up and leaves, then. The sun isn’t setting this time, it’s not even close, but he disappears down the path he always takes, always before I leave. I watch him walk off, not turning around to look back, just like always, and dig my fingers into my new gift.

 

* * *

 

 

                I wear it on my left, on the side he doesn’t sit on. He never looks for it, keeps his eyes on my own or on the sky.

 

* * *

 

 

                _…Until the very end_ reads the white inscription on the bracelet and upon flipping it inside out, I find that it’s Harry Potter merchandise, clearly part of a quote. His best friend must have – or at least, maybe, once had – the other half. I don’t bother looking up what it would say.

 

                Clearly, this is his way of telling her, whether she hears and notices or not, that this is _their_ end.

 

* * *

 

 

                He doesn’t talk about her anymore, but he does talk more. Every day that he shows up, usually, unless something happens and instead we just sit in silence, enjoying the wordless comfort of each other’s presence. We talk about our day, our breakfasts, our interests. Sometimes I talk and he listens, sometimes the other way around, and sometimes we both talk, fast and over each other, loud enough to scare the birds.

 

                He doesn’t laugh much unless I startle one out of him, but I don’t know if because he’s still hurting, or because he just isn’t that kind of person. I do know that he does smile, however, and that’s enough for me. I don’t need much – and I never want to make him feel like he has to give me something for my company.

 

                It works for us. _This_ works for us.   

 

                Maybe this is _our_ beginning.

**Author's Note:**

> I write different fandom stuff if you wanna check to see what I've written, but I have also written other random original work - none of which involves these two again, though.
> 
> Thanks for reading.


End file.
